


The Greasshack is serving troll rump

by Clamdiver, Pearlybj



Series: Troll Casper [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humor, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Roxy Lalonde Mentioned, Trollstuck, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 16:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16099154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clamdiver/pseuds/Clamdiver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlybj/pseuds/Pearlybj
Summary: It's hard to get a decent meal when your moirail is renowned for stabbing and corpse stuffing.This piece can be read standalone or as part of the Troll Casper storyline.Disclaimer: Dirk goes on to become a Bro in this au





	The Greasshack is serving troll rump

A troll walks into a bar-

 

No, scratch that. A giant buttbeast of a troll barges into a tavern, practically dislodges the “Cullmates Outside” sign on the door, and plops his ass down in a booth two sizes too small. 

 

Unfortunately, I’m sitting with him.

 

I’m sure the chipping wallpaper and quaint stains everywhere would look great if I could see past this hulk.

 

But hey, I’m not alone. None of the other bar-goers are enjoying the view, seeing as the Stringer scared them all right out the front door. Or window in one patron’s case.

 

Shit sucks for the waitbutcher. A number of them run without even paying, and I sure as hell can't make up the difference with a fat tip.

 

The waitbutcher in question, a timid oliveblood, cowers behind the serveplank to the far end of us. Poor bastard. Not that my companion pays them any heed, he’s too busy grumbling to himself. All I can do for the time being is sit and wait for the proverbial pin to drop it like its hot.

 

Gog, I wish I had some beats to pass the time or something.

 

Fortune graces me for once with her stingy, cheeto-covered fingers when the big guy decides to open his trap.

 

“Hit me with it straight, D, no flowery shit to soften the blow. How long have I been like this?”

 

He could be referring to any of his many flaws. I’m tempted to list a few, but I give the brute some slack and wait for him to elaborate.

 

“I’ve caught a serious case a’ the motherfancies, downright terminal even. Without being cognizant of it, I’ been gallopin’ around and lactatin’ some deliriously nasty musclemilk.”

 

I outright stare at him. Evidently, Dirque has lost another marble or two. I only have so many to lend to the fool.

 

“ ‘Cause, as far as her blessed Empress is concerned, I’ve pupated into a goddamn lusus.”

 

Err.

 

“How long have ye been covetin’ my supple teats, Daveed? These sweet, sweet juices I’m excretin’ from my every pore.”

 

Oh, gog. Someone make it stop, anyone. Maybe if I just get the waitbutcher’s attention-

 

“An’ here I thought ye loved me for my tender bloodpusher, Davey. I thought we had something, you insensitive prick.”

 

Why, why do I put up with this asshole, jegus fuck. The rambling troll doesn’t know when to stop.

 

Dirque gives me what he considers a gentle pat on the shoulder, claws outturned and unthreatening, to reassure me he’s only joking (as though I can’t tell). He uses enough force to knock me over, though. Dumbass. After helping me up, his tone becomes a little more serious.

 

“Honestly, is there a troll under the stars that’s convinced I’d make a good fuckin’ caretaker? I’da been culled in five seconds flat if I were jade. Useless. You agree, yeah?”

 

I don’t know why he waits for me to answer; he’s the one that sewed my mouth shut.

 

“E-excuse me.”

 

The Stringer’s previously amused demeanor immediately turns sour. His face paint is perfectly styled to exaggerate the contours of his snarl.

 

Keeping their head lowered, the oliveblood stammers, “Err… um, can- might I be able to get you any refreshments, Your Uncanniness? On- on the house, of course!”

 

My moirail dismisses the waitbutcher with a snort. “Drop the formalities, snotblood. I want a cup of yer bitteraddict juice, light, the shittier the better, and bring out a copy of yer troll hibachi menu.”

 

The oliveblood nods their head vigorously and fumbles with the clipboard. “Right, yes- right away, sir!” The waitbutcher turns to book it out of the firing range.

 

“The fuck do ye think yer going?” Dirque barks.

 

I’m almost convinced their bloodpusher gives out then and there, what with the sudden tremors down the waitbutcher’s frame and a claw clutching at their frontal plane. Fortunately, there are two major indicators the poor pupa is still alive: their sudden, violent kowtowing and the absence of any future-ghosts.

 

“Ye oughta address yer superior before crawlin’ away like a dirtnoodle.”

 

“Sir?”

 

Dirque nods to me. “The one sitting right infronta me. Or are yer fuckin’ look stubs on the fritz?”

 

The reluctance on the troll’s face couldn’t have looked more pathetic if they’d tattooed the words “Cull me” across their browplane.

 

Their eyes meet mine and I’m pretty sure I hear what sounds like a whimper.

 

“F-forgive my insolence. I would n-never wish to upset the great H-Haruspex.”

 

They bow, back ramrod straight. Oh, for fucks sake. I’d roll my eye at this hoofbeast shit if I could. I both love and loathe how Dirque indulges in new levels of sheer asshattery.

 

A tense silence passes over the three of us until Dirque decides he’s bored with the display. He yawns. 

 

“Alright, off with ye. Take this as yer first an’ final warnin’. If I even catch a whiff’a insubordination again, I’ll shell ye and serve ye up myself.” Dirque, no.

 

The waitbutcher scurries off, hiding the stream of tears no doubt coating their cheeks.

 

Dirque waits until the oliveblood has vanished into the mealblock well in the back until he continues. He heaves a sigh.

“Just, can ye fuckin’ believe this, Davey? Demoted and relocated to the new pinkblood brat’s hive. Who’s cereal did I piss in to make this happen?”

 

At least half of the jugglfucko’s entire congregation but, hell, what do I know? I only saw the reassignment files he’d been sent. Man, the look on his face would have sent weaker willed trolls to the culling gardens. Fucking. Priceless.  

 

“Why’s she even botherin’ ta keep the little bulgelicker alive- that’s what I can’t understand. He can’t even contend for the throne being male ‘n all.”  

 

Gotta say, I’m still pretty stumped on that myself.

 

_ “ _ I even had Rox look into it, but she found next to nothing on the situation.”

 

Huh. Getting his computer wiz pailmate in on the job too? I haven’t seen the troll this nervous since that time he took me swimming.

 

“What I’m sayin’ is, I’m not too keen on gettin’ involved with anything directly under the HIC. I have a hunch about what’s goin’ on and it ain’t lookin’ good fer anyone involved that ain’t her.” 

 

I want to ask him to elaborate further when the waitbutcher comes back.

 

On shaking legs, the poor wretch places the bitteraddict juice in front of Dirque along with the troll hibachi menu. The brute goes down the list for me one by one, making little comments about each dish. I want to die all over again.

 

By the time the oliveblood is near dozing off, Dirque orders the skewered savory beast and whole cluckbeast. They nod and turn around only for the front door to jingle.

 

Nearly breaking their neck in haste, the waitbutcher scrambles over to try and shoo out the potential patron- to no avail. Making herself comfortable on one of the stools, a squattish troll with brown eyes ignores the frantic pleas of the waiter. A second troll sits next to her, a creature nearly her mirror image save for a bloody gash through the neck and empty eyes.

 

Finally, someone to interrupt Dirque’s endless drivel. Maybe I can get on with my non-meal now.

 

The living counterpart of the troll pair slurs an order. “Come on, Stinky. One a’ dew for your spendin’, trendin’ cushumer. Money, money, for honey. Jush. For you.”

 

“I don’t stink, and we’re all out of Mountain Dew; please leave.”

 

The woman opts to take an abandoned soda from one of the nearby tables then plants herself right back in the stool. One swig later, and the fool is slumped over on the counter playing with an inkstick.

 

“Gossip then, Stinky. You got summa that in stock, under lock and key. Anyone else afta’ that sweethole a’ yours?” She cups the waitbutcher’s chin, resting a claw on their throat.

 

The oliveblood jumps.

 

“Please, Shelly, you- you have to leave. Right now I- I’m serving His Uncanniness. And the Haruspex.”

 

I swear the troll doesn’t hear them, neither the living one nor the dead one.

 

“I know you’ve gotta sweet treat for me,” Shelly says. She takes another swig of soda and burps. A small flame curls past her lips. A psionic, then.

 

Without an ounce of conviction, the waitbutcher squeaks, “Please, I’ll turn you in. You can’t stay.”

 

The drunk troll burps again, this time setting the counter on fire. The waitbutcher scrambles to put it out, then apologizes to no one in particular. 

 

“Now, wait. Are you baiting me with the Empress’s Intel whores? A longtime  _ patron _ of yours? Fitty sweeps a’ skipping town without those psi hunting munshers taking me down, and you’re gonna sell me out cuz this fatass beat me to my seat?”

 

Ha. Took the words right out of my mouth.

During the exchange, said fatass has not reacted once, taking slow, measured swigs of his brew.

 

A slam snaps my attention back to the other two.

 

“No dew, no food, no gosship, what good are ya? No good ish-ish what!” With each new accusation the psionic and the bloody double slam their fists onto the serveplank. 

 

“S-shelly! I-I’m serious!” The waitbutcher looks back towards me and the big brute, clearly having a breakdown. Dirque is still ignoring them.

 

“Oh yeah?” The unwanted patron coos, leaning over the serveplank, “Jus’ try n turn me in kinky Stinky, cuz I ain’t movin’ til I gets somethin’ worth my while.” She winks. 

 

The oliveblood inches back towards the old grub communication device that’s hooked up to the back wall. The shitty old kind with a  _ cord, _ of all things. I wouldn’t be caught dead with one of those old-sea pieces of trash.

 

\----

 

No one reacts at first. The only indicator that anything had occurred at all are small gurgles coming from Shelly. She is as much of a bronzeblood as her double if the stain on Dirque’s rapier is anything to go by.

 

Is. Was. Will have been? Whatever.

 

Shelly’s outstretched claws are halfway to the waitbutcher’s guts when she falls over. Fire dies on her lips, unable to move past the thin slit in her throat.

 

It’s efficient and cruel. Shelly slowly bleeds out on the tile, and her mirror image disappears, the future death becoming the current one.

 

The oliveblood remains eerily silent. Probably still in shock.

 

Unfortunately for them, my less tactful companion has already finished cleaning and captchaloging his weaponry and is now fidgeting, impatient for his food. Such a giant wriggler, gogdamn. No wonder he’s getting paired with the fish kid.

 

“Ain’t gettin’ any younger over here,” Dirque barks over his shoulder. I smack him, but he doesn’t notice.

 

The blood splattered waitbutcher blinks several times and shakes their head from the stupor. 

 

They rise up onto weak legs, moving as gracelessly as one of Dirque’s marionettes, and meander to the meal block in back. A few minutes pass. I hear a few slams and the sound of a hose. Then, the waitbutcher rolls back out with the troll hibachi cart.

 

They’re a bit soggy from hastily washing the blood off but otherwise pretend the dead bitch isn’t there at all. 

 

The waitbutcher bows. “A dish of skewered savorybeast over mashed roots will be first.” They take a large carcass out of the cart and set it on the counter. Several chunks are carved off and skewered in one neat motion, followed by some type of purple fruit that drips thick juice not unlike Dirque’s blood. 

 

Damn, I see why the fatass wanted to eat here now.

 

While the skewers are charring, the oliveblood lets a live cluckbeast loose on the countertop. They butcher it then and there, slicing it’s head off before it can so much as blink, then skin it. Excellent knifework. A regular troll might find the blade-wielding critter terrifying. Too bad they had to deal with the Stringer, a fire-breathing brickhead, and me.

 

They know their place.

 

The waitbutcher places the skewers in front of Dirque, then serves me the cluckbeast raw over mashed sunset roots. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why can’t I eat with my perfectly functioning ghost mouth, it smells so good.

 

“Enjoy your sustenance, Your Uncanniness, Great Haruspex." The oliveblood bows to each of us respectively and makes to walk away when, once again, Dirque stops them.

 

Their expression is utterly hollow when they answer, “Is there something else I might help you with?”

 

Dirque nods. “Ye can sit yer ass down and ingest the meal next t’my partner, here. Needs someone to eat this shit in his honor.”

 

The smaller troll stares at us, trying and no doubt failing to comprehend what the jerk is up to. That knowledge happens to be my field of expertise, sadly.

 

Completely out of fight, the waitbutcher makes their way over to us. They do their best to crawl over my body without touching and sit down in the booth.

 

Dirque rests his hands on the table and offers a brief prayer. Dumb fuck hates the congregation, yet here he is, doing this shit for me.

 

" 'M still followin' all that advice you left for me in crayon on the fuckin' hivewalls, y'know. Plus Rox has some good tips fer me here n' there, ain't yer job anymore. I mean it, yer pale ass is officially dumped. Go fuckin' rest already."

 

He sucks at bluffing, the fucker is stuck with me, and he knows it-

  
"...Sweet dreams, Timekeeper."

 

Neither troll makes a move to eat their respective meals. The oliveblood keeps their hands curled into fists on their knees and makes a sad attempt to shrink out of existence.

 

I lean down to the skittish thing’s ear.

 

“Psst, the giant tool wants you to start my meal first. Otherwise, we’ll all be stuck her till the sun’s up, and I’m pretty sure none of us are rainbow drinkers. Unless I’m wrong. Am I wrong?”

 

They nearly launch themself into the ceiling and snap their gaze directly to mine. Actual me, not the creepy ass marble eyes corpse. I laugh lightly.

 

“You can see me, right? Cool. Been awhile since I’ve had someone who can actually acknowledge me without being a patronizing nookwhiffer. Heh, don’t worry. My lips are thoroughly fucking sealed, thanks to my big buffoon here.”

 

The nervous troll makes a point to ignore me and daintily begins to eat the cooling cluckbeast. Dirque shows off his stellar foodplank manners and tears his savorybeast to pitiful shreds. It’s not even for the sacred pursuit of pissing off other highbloods; he’s just that much of a drooling savage.

 

They continue to eat in mutually tense silence. Dirque finished off two skewers before the oliveblood manages one leg.

 

I try to liven up the mood a little by talking about Dirque’s pailing habits and how he can’t sleep without me overlooking his recuperacoon. The waitbutcher starts squirming uncomfortably with a rather noticeable flush growing across their cheeks. Oh.

 

Fuck yes, a golden opportunity.

 

I prompt them, “So how ‘bout you and me ditch this bozo and spend some good ol’ quality time getting to know each other? We could go get some bitteraddict juice somewhere else, maybe see a movie?”

 

Dirque finally starts to take notice of something else besides stuffing his face and looks at the smaller troll with an arched brow.

 

“I’m sure you’ve had enough of wonderbreath here, right? I know I could use a break from his company once in awhile, fit in a good hook up or two. I’m a futureman, you know. Take a quick peek into the unknown, and I’ll find all the ways you never knew you needed to be ruined. Or maybe you’d prefer it simple and smooth, just a bit of getting spoiled, not enough to rot or anything…”

 

I trail off. The oliveblood is making heavy eye contact with the neck of the cluckbeast.

 

“Aw c’mon, buddy. At least look at me? Please? Please. Please please please please please  _ please _ -”

 

After begging nonstop for a few minutes, the smaller troll finally slams their fist on the counter with a shout.

 

“Would you kindly SHUT UP?”

 

They slap their other hand over their mouth and slowly turn their head away from me to look at the hulk across the foodplank.

 

Dirque stares blankly.

 

“I-I-I’m I mean-”

 

Their words fall into a mess of whines. 

 

Then, Dirque starts laughing; he just busts a fucking gut over there, slapping his knee while some of his savorybeast sends him into a coughing fit. The waitbutcher and I both share a look of concern for our own respective reasons.

 

Dirque settles the fuck down finally and wipes a tear from behind his shades.

 

“He’s talkin’ to ye ain’t he?”

 

The oliveblood squeaks “P-Pardon?”

 

“What’s he sayin’? Bet the lil guy is squawkin’ up a bitchfest, the likes a which ye never heard in yer life.”

 

I don’t even dignify him with an unheard comeback and instead look towards our mediator.

 

“Tell him that watching him and Rox go at it doesn’t do shit for my ghost dick. Completely kills the mood, leaving me more dead than I was before, every single round. I can already feel the rigor mortis setting in, I’m stiff as a- wait, fuck. Forget I said that. Point is, the folks in the cheap seats have already left and gone home. Shit is boring as fuck.”

 

Dirque starts talking over me. “Try an’ paraphrase for me, if ye can catch a single word anyways.”

 

“Um. You sleep with rocks? I’m sorry, Sir, I’m not- I don’t mean any disrespect.”

 

“Heh. Yeah, she’s hatched from a good brood, that one. Always keeps business as strictly business. Never tries to shove a troll into a pale pile. Unlike yer pushy ass.”

 

“Yeah, well you’re a gogdamn mess and me ditching you is something that the planet cannot afford. Just another addition to the ‘Why Daveed is the raddest motherfucker to have ever existed’ list. Its a real thing, unlike your common sense. Like, you can have a dinner in my honor, sure, but leave the goddamn corpse at home, you fucking lunatic.”

 

“He, um, says that you have no common sense. A-also to leave his body at h-home. Sir.”

 

Dirque waves a dismissive hand.

 

“As if I’d leave ye all alone. I know ye get lonely the second I go to work.”

 

Fuck him. There is no fucking way in hell that I’d ever be jealous of those poor bastards. They can have all of Dirque’s attention during one of his little “one on one” talks.

 

Or not, since he’s been reassigned.

 

The larger troll lifts his arms up to give his neck a good stretch.

 

“Anyway, ‘ts bout time we got back home. Come on, Lil’ guy.”

 

The oliveblood makes no move of their own while Dirque picks me up and tosses quite a pile of caegars onto the foodplank.

 

“A hundred fer yer troubles and fifty to consider takin’ Davey up on his offer.” Oh, fuck him.

 

With that, Dirque carries me out the door, plus one more corpse in tow.


End file.
